


Tumblr Prompts

by birdcages7



Series: Tumblr Prompts/Shorts [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Cancer, In Public, M/M, Rage Boners, Rating May Change, Steve Harrington Being an Idiot, more to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24605815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdcages7/pseuds/birdcages7
Summary: Somewhere for prompt fics to be collected
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Tumblr Prompts/Shorts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785595
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	1. “You might not like me, but you definitely want me.”

**"You might not like me, but you definetely want me."**

High school wasn’t anyone's idea of a good time. It couldn’t be. Not with the constant pressure to be either;

a) A good student

b) A good sportsman

c) The hot one

Or, and most preferably

d) All of the previous points combined

Steve was a terrible student. It's not that he didn’t try, because he tried very hard to keep at least an average grade. It's just academics in general and trying to force algebra into his brain in Mrs Michel’s swelteringly hot classroom weren’t his thing. The incident at the Byer’s had changed a lot. There was a lot more out there to worry about now than simply falling behind. His social standing had taken a serious nosedive, what with loosing Nancy to Jonathan, her _stalker_. Neither had publicly actually said anything yet but it was so obvious it was like a slap in the face that the whole student body could hear the vibrations.

So sports. Steve had always been good at sports. Until of course that fucking California metalhead had to show up and take the one last thing Steve had. Getting knocked to the floor repeatedly every gym class left him floundering. But it wasn’t just in gym that Steve hated him. It was everything. His car was better (Steve could pretend that his BMW was nicer, but really it was just okay at best), he was a better student without seemingly having to even try, girls were climbing over themselves just to stand _near_ him. Steve tried not to let any of that bother him, but the monsters of that faithful November night had stayed silent, almost disappeared, meaning he had to focus on something else. A Billy Hargrove shaped something else. Take out one monster and replace it with another.

Unfortunately for Steve they shared a class outside of gym: history. History was hard enough as it was, with its long boring facts to remember and lists of endless dates. Steve didn’t understand why he had to remember any of this. Really. Who still needed to know when the Battle of Gettysburg was? Why was it important to everyday life to know the exact dates in which Columbus sailed the world? It didn’t help matters that Mrs Click wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic teacher. Steve could count the minutes he had before his brain just shut off, usually eight, before his attention was dragged to the feeling of little scrunched up paper balls bouncing off the back of his head.

He knew it was Billy, he was class stupid not life stupid. Sometimes the balls landed on his desk, cluttering up his space. A quick whip round always proved fruitless as Billy would always be looking away, or trying to balance a pencil on his upper lip, or pulling one of his curls straight and just watching it spring back into place, or something else just as dumb.

Everything about him was dumb. His dumb blonde mullet, his dumb dangly earring, his dumb denim jeans that were purposly too tight because that was the oldest trick in the book. It wasn’t as if Steve drove himself crazy at nights just thinking how dumb Billy Hargrove was. Dumb moustache, dumb fat lip, dumb tongue that would poke out and roll over his dumb teeth. And it definitely wasn’t a growing constant thought of that dumb tongue doing some not so dumb things against Steve’s that caused him to get hard alone in his room.

Rage boners. That was totally a thing. A _secret_ thing that no one else could ever know about _ever_.

They shared gym class last thing on a Friday. That’s when things always got fierce. Everyone was eager to just get out of school for the weekend, it made games extra rough. It made Billy’s dumb tongue stick out of his stupid dumb mouth even more. Made him spit crappy dumb insults that Steve tried to ignore and 100% didn’t shoot straight through him like lightening hitting a pole.

Steve was first into the showers, when the water was blisteringly hot before it got used up by everyone else. Not that many showered last thing on a Friday afternoon but their hygiene was their own problem. It meant Steve could have even a brief moment alone, breathe heavy in the steam, drag his nails sharp over his scalp to forget that stupid, dumb, shit eating grin that followed him around behind his eyelids.

Monsters in the dark were easier to forget than that know-it-all grin.

He felt the water suddenly shut off. Rubbing suds off his face he opened his eyes and there it was. That dumb fucking grin attached to that dumb fucking face, dumb fucking mullet gone flat in the humidity, dumb blue eyes piercing through the fog. Steve went to turn the water back on and just ignore this was happening but it was quickly shut off again. In the background sneakers squeaked out the door. Free for the weekend.

Steve went to speak, ask _what the fuck_ , but was pushed back the short space against the grimy tiles of the shower wall, Billy’s mouth on his like it wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world. That it wasn’t hot and pressing and dangerous. That Steve didn’t just immediately buckle to it and cave for more. That the small whimper that left his throat was a completely normal reaction to this completely normal event. That that stupid, dumb fucking tongue didn’t feel like ice rolling over fire when it licked into Steve’s mouth. That the hand on his hip wasn’t bruising a mark. That blunt nails digging into his skin didn’t feel _good_.

Steve was hard when Billy took a step back, leaving him boneless, only supported by the wall behind. His grin had turned into a smirk. A smirk of _I knew it._ It was worse than his shit eating grin.

“You might not like me, but you definitely want me,” his voice dripped thick like bitter honey before he cranked the water back on and left Steve alone. Naked, damp and hard.

_Just a rage boner. Nothing more._


	2. Sunflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #47: "Hold my hand until it's over?"
> 
> Billy took up a far less comfortable chair next to him. Both wore dark circles of exhaustion under their eyes.
> 
> It had been both a long and incredibly quick week.

The room was white and sterile. It had that clawing smell of disinfectant that permeated everything. Naturally so of course. There was a generic painting of a meadow across the wall above the bed. A large window took up most of the outer facing wall, striped with pale cream blinds that blocked out the sun, only allowing it to trickle through the gaps and create long lines across the tiled floor, streaking across everything in their path. Steve rolled his hand in the sunbeam. The one attached to the arm not currently filled with needles, thin plastic tubes and wiring, hooking him up to a small white machine to the left of the plush plastic chair he was sat on. Billy took up a far less comfortable chair next to him. Both wore dark circles of exhaustion under their eyes.

It had been both a long and incredibly quick week.

One moment everything was normal. Winter was starting to turn into spring. The thaw in the ground was starting to melt away, grass peeking through what was left of the snow. Single sweatshirt weather. Steve had suffered from a bad cold all winter, it was just something he couldn’t shake despite how many scarves and extra layers he wrapped himself in, how many gallons of chicken soup he consumed. They both thought it was just that, just a cold. Maybe pneumonia at most, but even then that was a crazy exaggeration. Steve was fit and healthy. But then Steve had passed out in the street running errands while Billy was at work, struggling to breathe. The same small rasps he wheezed sitting in the sterile chair. A passing stranger had called an ambulance. 

He had been kept in overnight. Miles of tests were performed. 

It wasn’t just a cold.

Stage two lung cancer.

After that, time had stopped, but continued to spin at a rapid pace. Endless meetings with doctors, all of them spouting long words neither Billy nor Steve could understand, explaining different courses of action possible to take, roughly how long it would last. Survival rates. Billy tried to pay attention, he really did, but all he could notice was Steve, facing towards the window in every room they were put into and the gentle sunlight just beyond his grasp.

Steve had to call his parents. Neither he or Billy had the health insurance to cover what Steve needed to get better and no amount of overtime or second and third jobs Billy could take would fix it. That night in itself had been long. Steve stood in their small shared kitchen, leaning against the wall next to the fridge where the phone was, twirling the avocado green cord around his fingers, just listening to his parents talk. Berate more like. Billy had held him the entire time, his bigger arms around Steve’s smaller frame, hand cupped on his chest under a stolen Nirvana t-shirt right where they had both seen the black spot of a tumor on the x-ray sheet, as if just wishful thinking would make this all go away and get them back to normal. They’d been planning a summer vacation the week previous. Maybe Italy. Pretend they gave a shit about art and architecture and that it wasn’t just going to be a week of eating all the gelato they could get their hands on. 

Steve wore that same shirt in the chair, said it was his favourite the second Billy had stretched it out just enough to steal.

Billy tried to be positive. The Harrington family health care plan was pretty lucrative. It afforded them a private room at least, no one asking any questions as to why Billy was there when he wasn’t family. Billy knew he was the devil to both of them, stealing away their innocent son and turning him queer. They hadn’t been shy in telling him so in their one and only conversation back in the late 80s. 

Steve’s fingers flexed on the arm of the chair, trying to touch sunlight. They both knew this was going to be a long road even if just the chemo was successful, but there was no guarantee of even that. They’d both been warned of side effects, been given long spewing pamphlets of terrible news and consequences. Weight loss, fatigue, loss of appetite, loss of sex drive, nausa, sores, nerve problems, infection, hair loss. Billy had read through each one over and over, forcing information into his head that would help in the near future. Steve had chosen to ignore them.

A doctor came into the room to start the procedure. It would be a few hours so they’d best be comfortable. Steve didn’t move. Didn’t look as different bags were hooked up and the machine was turned on. Eyes closed in defiance as to what was happening to one side of his body started. Billy could only watch helplessly, gently stroke Steve’s bare arm, trying to be supportive as he could, whispering empty promises that it would all be okay, everything would be okay.

33% is a lot to gamble everything on.

Only when the doctor left the room, left them both alone in gentle streams of sunlight, did Steve open his eyes again, deep chocolate pools threatening to flood over for the first time since the diagnosis.

“Hold my hand until it’s over?”

Billy didn’t need to be asked twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr page.](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Come suggest a prompt!](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr page.](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Come suggest a prompt!](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/post/620226201306513408/fanfic-prompt-list/)


End file.
